


From the Shadows

by McKinney_Wylis



Category: Secret Avengers, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6860827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKinney_Wylis/pseuds/McKinney_Wylis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up a few months after the end of "Captain America: Civil War." If you haven't seen it yet, you might set this aside. It doesn't spoil the film, but moves on from where things leave off at the end. </p><p>AUTHOR'S NOTE, 5/24/16: I realize I started this to include the Steve/Sharon dynamic. But the little people in my head have other ideas. I'm going to take down the last scene I posted and rework it in this new direction. I apologize to those who had their hearts set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Beginnings

**From the Shadows** \-- _A Secret Avengers fanfic_

by Terry Wylis

 

**Chapter 1**

 

“You know, you could at least have the decency to _not_ shave a minute off this climb every time you do it.” Sam Wilson’s mock-glower staring down at him blended perfectly with the canopy above and the clouds of water vapor drifting lazily up the cliff face. “Especially when you take a different route every time.”

Steve Rogers settled his grip more securely on a small protrusion from the rock and made sure his feet were stable before grinning up at his friend. “No point taking the slow lane. What’s up?”

“T’Challa asked me to come find you. He’s either got something going on, or he just figures three weeks is enough time for this round of you walkabouting.” Sam pushed up from his squat and peered down over Warrior Falls, a shiver crossing his dark shoulders even in the tropical heat. “I’m not even going to guess how far up we are. Come on, I got one of the palace ion bikes. We’ll go pack up your camp and get back to civilization.”

He thought about it. Easy path and all that. But it was so much fun to ruffle the Falcon’s feathers. Steve let the mischief stretch his mouth to its widest as he turned his head, eyeballing a vine about fifty feet down and to his left. “Race you.” He let go of the rock face.

“Steve!” A curse and the sound of Sam diving for the flyer faded quickly in the rush of wind around his face, the strong smell of green as his hands took a top layer off the vine, the rush of exertion and adrenaline as he moved from vine and branch to rock to more branch all the way down the 700-foot cliff. God, it was incredible.

A quick rinse-off in the crystal waters of the pool at the bottom of the falls left him just as invigorated. Steve pulled his T-shirt off over his head and settled it on a branch to dry before grinning into Sam’s not-so-mock-this-time glare. “What?”

“You’re gonna kill me yet. Ain’t nobody gotta bother shooting at us.” Sam stomped over to the shelter, still muttering to himself. “Come on, let’s get you packed up. Sounded like T’Challa wasn’t keen on waiting too overly long for you.” He reached for a towel hanging on the clothesline.

“Sam! Stop. Do not move.” Steve eased over, holding up a hand for what he hoped was calm. “Seriously. Don’t move, and do not freak out.”

“What?” Falcon’s gaze darted over the foliage, his voice now a strained whisper through a clenched jaw. “Dude, you do not tell me to not freak out over something I can’t see and then not tell me what I’m not supposed to be freaking out over.”

“Shhh. Just stay put. I don’t want to hurt him and I’d kinda rather he didn’t hurt you.” Steve reached down and got one of the carabiners he used when the cliffs got too smooth for even his climbing skills, a big flat one that would work perfectly. He eased it up along the length of the towel to the rope line. “Just give me a second here…”

“You better not be telling me there’s a snake. I don’t do snakes, man. You know how many poisonous snakes there are out here?” Sam blinked as a trickle of sweat found his eyes. “Steve, hurry the hell up, man.”

“It’s not a snake. Okay, real slow, ease your hand up and to your left, then step back.” Steve eased the carabiner up a little further, letting the tiny black frog with its orange stripes take its own time crawling onto it before gently moving to deposit it on a broad leaf nearby. “All clear.”

Sam peered at the little guy. “A frog. You had me freaked out over a fucking frog? Sorry, but damn…”

“That’s a Banded Rubber frog. Scare or injure them, they release a secretion in their skin that’s…cardiotoxic, the doctor said.” Steve took the dark towel off the line and shook it gently before tossing it over his shoulder and reaching to untie the clothesline knot. “You were about to put your hand down right on him. It’s not a pleasant sensation, especially if you’ve got cuts or scrapes so it goes right into your bloodstream. You’d probably be down for a week.”

“You sound like you speak from experience. You never said anything about getting stung. When was this?”

“First trip out. Pretty much the same thing you almost did, only I’d sliced my palm open on a rock face less than an hour before. Fortunately I was close to the river settlement, so the doctors could monitor how the stuff affected my system. My hand swelled up for about thirty minutes, pulse rate doubled, and I haven’t felt that nauseous since before the serum.” He led the way into the small pop-up shelter, pointing to the several roommates on the walls. “The day geckos are safe to pick up. Just set them on that log outside. They’ll find another hangout.”

“Uh…” Sam eyed the little green lizards. “Think I’ll leave you on pest patrol. So, what, Brooklyn’s turning into Tarzan now? I gotta worry about you bringing home a chimp?”

“Saw an elephant couple days ago. You think she'd fit through the palace doors?” Steve laughed at the reaction that got. “Relax. I'm in their world, not the other way around. They've got enough problems out here.”

Packing up the camp took little time once the houseguests were shooed away. Steve shouldered the big pack and took a moment to make sure the clearing was as he’d found it. He’d be back soon enough; the forests, mountains, and high grasslands of Wakanda had given him something he’d not really found anywhere else since waking from the ice—a sense of home.

***

 


	2. Deep Thoughts

The palace complex still amazed him every time he stood in it and looked out over it, rising out of the narrow valley, an island of technology in a wild, beautiful land. Best of both worlds. A chance to rest and regroup, for himself and for his team. A safe refuge.

If only he could give them back their lives.

Clint’s wife and children. Scott’s daughter. Sam’s mother was still alive in Harlem. Wanda…the 19-year-old really had no one left in the world, but she’d found a home at the Avengers compound. And now she’d been forced to start all over again. Because she’d followed _him_. Because they’d all followed him into the fires of conviction. He felt both the warmth and the weight of that every day.

“Samuel warned me you think both far too much and far too loudly, Captain Rogers.”

Steve turned from the window and smiled faintly. “Your Highness.”

“We have fallen into bad habits again, have we not?” The Wakandan king stretched out his hand to grip Steve's. “Steven. And have you solved all the riddles of the world on your journey this time?”

“Maybe a few closer to home.” He moved to the seating area T’Challa offered. “Thank you again for allowing me to explore all this, T’Challa. I know a lot of it is sacred to your people.”

“And you treat it as such. We do not fear those who understand our ways.” The young king seated himself in one of the comfortable chairs. “Steven, I have been curious about something for a while now. May I pose a question to you?”

 _What’s this about?_ Steve nodded. “Sure.”

“You do not strike me as an unreasonable man. Quite the opposite, in fact.” T’Challa let his fingers drift over a wooden sculpture of a lion resting on the table between the chair and the sofa. “The Accords. What would you have suggested be done instead? I sense you do not disagree with the notion that there was…concern.”

Ah. At least someone finally asked. Even if it resurrected the knot in his gut over what had come of it all. Steve let his gaze settle on the painting across the conversation area, a beautiful rendition of the grasslands that left him almost feeling the wind on his face. “I’m not saying we weren’t responsible for some mistakes. We were. _I_ was. But they never talked to _us_. Never invited us in on the discussion. Just assumed we didn’t care. Laid down an ultimatum without any room for dialogue at all.” He shifted on the sofa. “I remember them all, T’Challa. I may not have names to put to each face, but I remember every casualty we leave behind. I can tell you exactly how many we’ve lost.”

The king nodded. “But…”

“But if they’d asked, if they’d laid out the concerns to us, this is what I’d have said. If we hadn’t held the Chitauri to Midtown, they’d have destroyed all of New York and gone on to the rest of the world. The Security Council’s alternate solution was to drop a nuclear bomb on Manhattan that would have killed millions. We lost two hundred and six lives that day. And we almost lost Tony in the process.” Steve got up from the sofa, unable to sit still through this conversation, pacing the length of the coffee table. “Washington. We took down three helicarriers that came within ten seconds of assassinating _three million_ targets simultaneously. Forty-seven non-HYDRA personnel were killed from causes other than direct killing by HYDRA agents. Those names I know. I have—had a folder on my desk at the Avengers compound with all of them. I also had the names of those who died at the hands of HYDRA because I asked them to stand up for what was right.”

The king held up a hand. “Steven, I am not accusing you—”

“I know.” Steve paused in his pacing, the familiar sick feeling he got whenever he allowed himself to think about this needing to be swallowed down. “I know you’re not. But I have to admit, it’s kind of liberating to say it now, even if I couldn’t say it then.”

“Then please, say what you need to.” T’Challa rose with all the grace of the panther warrior he was and moved to pour two glasses of golden liquid from a decanter. He brought them over and handed one to Steve. “Perhaps it will help you find some peace in this matter.”

“Sokovia…” He needed to swallow again. “Sokovia…”

“Began with Mister Stark. We know. He knows. And you did what you could.” T’Challa’s deep melodic voice soothed over him. “You saved far more than you lost. Far more. And were willing to perish with the city if you could not save them.” He smiled at Steve’s astonishment. “I am not without sources, Steven. Especially when it was our vibranium which helped craft this Ultron. We learned all we could.”

“If I’d just known what he was doing…” Steve drained his drink, barely tasting it. It wouldn’t help anyway. “But we bore it as a team. We all shared in the responsibility. We lost a good man that day. Wanda’s twin brother, Pietro.” The walls started closing in on him again and he moved back to the window. “If the UN had asked us to go back and help rebuild, we’d have done that, too. It just didn’t…didn’t seem like they wanted our help. They were already angry at us, before Tony ever started Ultron.”

“And then Lagos.” T’Challa refilled their glasses. “Where many more would have been killed if the bomb had gone off in the marketplace. All of this is true, Steven. There is truth on both sides. So what would you have suggested in place of the Accords?”

“I don’t know.” The futility of the past few months sat heavy in his chest and he tried to breathe past it. This was why he periodically had to go out and focus only on survival, only on the terrain around him. So he didn’t have time to think about anything else. “Maybe we would have ended up with the Accords anyway. But at least we’d have had a part in the discussion. At least maybe the first result of it wouldn’t have been a manhunt with a kill order and no due process.” The next sigh had to be tempered so it didn’t come out a growl. “Bucky would have been dead by the time all the politicians figured out he didn’t do it. Too many agendas and too much screaming for quick solutions.” He regarded the Wakandan king with a rueful smile. “Probably not what you were hoping for, huh?”

“I asked a question with an honest heart. I believe I have received an answer with the same.” T’Challa’s smile flashed bright against his skin. “It is not an easy thing, politics. I once told Miss Romanoff two people in a room can accomplish more than a hundred. I still believe that.”

“Sam said you were looking for me. Is there something you need…accomplished?” He grimaced. “Oh, God, what did Clint and Scott do now?”

T’Challa laughed, rich and deep. “They are fine, Steven. Actually, I had hoped you and your friends would aid me this evening in welcoming a new member of my staff. The United Nations has requested we have a liaison in matters of intelligence. I wanted to assure you this will in no way affect your asylum here. Indeed, it may aid it greatly.”

“Someone from the outside?” It had to be. Otherwise T’Challa wouldn’t be trying to reassure him.

“It will be well, Steven. You have my word.” The king’s phone chimed softly from his pocket, and he answered it. “Yes? Ah, yes, please escort her up to the south lounge. I believe Captain Rogers would enjoy keeping her company until the reception.”

His whole nervous system went  _ping_ , and not in a good way. _Her???_ God, it never changed. He could face down an oncoming disaster without flinching, and the idea of making small talk with a woman left him in a cold sweat.

Dark eyes twinkled as T’Challa ended the call. “Do not look at me as if I am a cobra, my friend. I told you it will be well, and it will be well.”

He gestured down the nearby hallway leading to Steve’s and several others’ flats in the palace. “Come, we will greet my new intelligence officer and then you may show her to her rooms, which reside next to yours. I fear I have at least a dozen things to do before the reception tonight which I cannot delegate to my staff.”

 _So why am I playing babysitter?_ T’Challa had more than enough people to entertain anybody—a hundred anybodies—for as long as he needed. He narrowed a gaze at the king. “T’Challa, why—”

“Your Highness?”

He whirled at the familiar voice.

_Oh my God. It's you._

  
***

 


	3. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting. The story took an unexpected turn in terms of a character, and I wanted to make sure the rework felt right. I'll be gone over the weekend -- fingers crossed I have another scene done when I get home.

“Natasha?” He couldn’t believe it. Nat was here? As an intelligence officer for… Steve found himself gaping back and forth between the two of them.

T’Challa’s smile held warmth. “Your Secretary Ross had much the same reaction when I requested Ms. Romanoff.”

“Yeah, I think Tony said it consisted of “Why in God’s name do you want _her_?’” Nat grinned pure machetes. If she was surprised to see him, she’d never show it anyway.

“I will tell you what I told him, Steven. I believe in second chances. And Ms. Romanoff's actions did aid in bringing the _correct_ man to justice. Something neither the United Nations panel nor the task force would have done. I share the blame in that. And so I wish to both make amends and offer a second chance.” He held his hand out to Nat. “Welcome, Ms. Romanoff. I trust our little secret is still safe?”

“Completely.” Her gaze settled on Steve. “If you still trust me to keep it. To have your back.”

The nod felt so good, like the world settling back on its proper axis. “I do.”

“Excellent.” Now T’Challa’s smile flashed bright. “Then I shall leave you in Captain Rogers’ company until the reception tonight. Your luggage has already been taken to your rooms.” A quick nod to Steve. “Captain.”

“Your Highness.” The king was right; the formality felt very strange after six months here. But needs must and all that. They had lots of opportunities to step out of their formal roles and just be fellow warriors. Later.

“Well, this makes a lot more sense now. It’s good to see you.” Nat embraced him back, still staying close after he let her go. “I’d wondered why the king asked for me specifically. Everyone’s here? Clint? Sam?”

“And Scott, and Wanda.”  He smiled at her raised brows, the question in her eyes. “Bucky’s here, too. He chose to go back into cryostasis until they can figure out how to undo Hydra’s programming. But he’s here. I know he’s safe.” She always managed to draw the truth out of him without having to say a word. “I go visit a couple times a month. Kinda one-sided, but—”

“But it makes you feel like he’s still by your side. That’s good. You need some stability for a change.” She met his raised brow with one of her own, the little digs she always tossed at him full of the connection they’d forged over the last couple of years as co-leaders of the Avengers. “Come on, show me the way to this suite or whatever and we can just kick back for awhile before the shindig. I told T’Challa I didn’t need a reception.”

Steve grinned. “Kinda learned T’Challa does what he wants.” He gestured her toward the hallway where everyone had a suite. “After a while it’s easier to just not bother protesting.”

She took in the sumptuous living space with barely a blink. “Nice.” Moving to the small kitchenette, she rummaged in the fridge and came up with a pitcher of juice and a plate of fruit, which she set down on the island counter and started opening cabinets to find glasses. “Take a load off.”

He had to almost literally pick his jaw up off the floor. “‘Take a load off?’ Did you _see_ the space you just walked into?” It had taken him two weeks to quit cringing every time he brushed up against something. “I mean, I get the whole ice-in-the-veins routine, Nat, but seriously?”

“This? This is nothing. You should have seen the place I had for a mission in Monte Carlo. Or the penthouse in Orleans. Or the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons in Boston.” Her nose wrinkled. “We won’t even get into Trump Tower. At least Wakanda has taste.” She poured drinks for them both and picked up a slice of fruit. “So, besides the fact I’m here, what else are you dying to know about the outside world?”

To be honest, he hadn’t thought much about the outside world. With the exception of Natasha, most everyone of importance to him—that he wouldn’t end up arguing with every ten minutes—was here. “How’s Tony?”

“Unusually quiet, or at least he was the last I heard. Spending a lot of time with Rhodey on rehab.” She fixed a gaze on him, the sort he’d learned to recognize as trying to read him below the surface. “Wasn’t much chatter about your uber-assassins after Berlin, though I know they’ve got Zemo locked up tight. Whatever else he or T’Challa said about what went on in Siberia is classified at a level I don’t hold anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” The repercussions of his one personal choice never seemed to stop.

Her expression said she knew exactly what his silent thought had been. “You know, I get that between the Catholic and the serum and the whole hero thing you’ve got the biggest guilt switch in the world, but I didn’t ask for an apology. I could have shot you just as easily as I did T’Challa. I made my own choice, Steve.”

“I know you did.” He shrugged at her raised brow and managed a half-smile.

The breath she blew out was pure frustration and entirely too cute. “You’re not going to tell me either, are you?”

“No.” He couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. As far as he was concerned, the events in Siberia would stay locked in that steel bunker for good. All anyone had to know was the assassins were dead and he’d walked away from the shield. The rest…the rest made him sick to his stomach when he dared think about it. He’d almost killed— _murdered_ —a man in a fit of rage. A friend, of sorts at least. Certainly a colleague. He could tell himself forever that he was just trying to stop Tony, that he wasn’t actually trying to kill him, but the truth of the matter was his temper had gotten out of control and for a split-second he really _had_ wanted to slam the edge of the shield down on Tony’s windpipe and end the constant battle once and for all. That he’d pulled back at the last second really didn’t make a lot of difference. He’d seen a side of himself that reminded him far too much of the serum’s other result—Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull. The dark side of the coin he’d tried so hard to keep reined in all these years.

Natasha’s hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. She gave him that once-over look again, then nodded. “Okay.” Then she smiled, bright and cheery and so fake he would have laughed if he wasn’t so grateful she was letting the subject drop. “Come on, help me unpack before we both have to go get dolled up. I need at least an hour to get this place looking lived-in.”

  
***


	4. Reunion

“Nat! Oh my God!” Clint lifted her right off the floor as he hugged her. 

Steve sipped at a drink and watched the reunion, the most animated he’d seen the archer since they arrived in Wakanda. No surprise at all the first question out of Clint’s mouth was about his family. When Nat assured him that while Tony had apparently blabbed about a wife and kids to the Raft he hadn’t spilled about the location of the farm, a visible weight lifted off Hawkeye’s shoulders. More so when she pulled a letter out of her evening bag, telling him she’d been holding onto it for the whole time in case she ran into him.

“Man, she scrubs up nice.” 

Sam’s crush hadn’t gone anywhere, it seemed. Steve kept his voice even. “You think? I hadn’t noticed.”

Yep, dark eyes giving him a proper sidewise glare. “You know, for a guy who’s the poster boy for truth and justice, you bullshit with the best.” 

Okay, so aside from teasing Sam he wasn’t going to  _ admit _ he’d noticed. When he’d knocked at her door to escort her to the reception, he’d had to take an extra breath. He’d never been with Natasha while she was in a fancy cover, so the deep green dress with its low neckline and slim profile caught him by surprise, along with her hair up in a twist and long silver earrings brushing her shoulders. Even the catsuit she wore as the Black Widow didn’t seem to have the same effect.

T’Challa stepped away from his conversation with Wanda and Scott, motioning them all to a large table. “My friends, let us begin.” He raised his wineglass. “A blessed welcome to Miss Romanoff as my intelligence liaison to the Enhanced Oversight Council. I see a great good ahead of us.”

Dinner was a great blend of fantastic food and even better company, questions about folks back home, Nat sharing what she could—and probably a fair bit she really shouldn’t be—about the politicking and all still simmering around the Accords. Mostly Steve just sat back and took it all in, the buzz and vibe of it all reminding him of being back at the compound before the world went to hell yet again.

“So what have you all been up to?” Nat set her wineglass aside and quirked a brow as a server placed a dessert plate in front of her—and Wakanda sure knew how to do dessert along with everything else. “Besides working out to offset these meals.”

Steve felt a new jolt to his gut as conversation picked back up and he realized that  _ he _ didn’t know the answer to that question on behalf of the team. Not really. He’d been so caught up in the ramifications—okay, the guilt—of turning them into fugitives in the first place, in fending off his own ghosts, that he’d more or less left them to themselves once he knew they were safe. He had conversations with them when he wasn’t out walkabouting, to use Sam’s term, but it had all been very surface and nothing had really registered in his brain. He hadn’t  _ asked _ .

So now he listened in amazement as Wanda spoke of her college classes and friends, of Clint’s encouragement, of working with Wakandan scientists and doctors, honing her telekinetic skills to an almost microscopic level. Starting with constructs and simulations, she could now move a tiny radiation capsule _through_ _a patient’s bloodstream_ right up next to a tumor and activate it. The treatment gone directly to the target with minimal collateral damage.

_ Wow. She’s come a long way. _ Then he pushed away the bubble of pride. It wasn’t his place to feel that when he’d done nothing to help her get there.

The others related similar accomplishments. Scott made new use of his electrical engineering degree, now that he was in a country open to giving second chances. He soaked up all Wakandan technology had to offer, and had been helping to further refine their solar and ion capabilities. The tiny nation pretty much powered itself  and was getting ready to share some of the tech with the outside world.

Sam had picked up where he left off at the VA in the States, studying toward a degree in psychology and social work. When he wasn’t pestering Steve to come in out of the jungle and  _ talk _ to the rest of them. So far the former had been a lot more successful than the latter.

Clint—predictably, Steve supposed—had not only refocused on the quiet of agriculture and husbandry, he had plans drawn up for a house out on the edge of one of the villages. “The kids would go nuts for this place. Safari every day, y’know.”  His blue eyes went bleak for only a moment before he smiled and reached for his wine. “The light here is perfect for Laura’s paintings. Big picture window looking out over the river…” Steve could almost see the archer’s brain switch back into drafting mode, new ideas being sketched out.

“Cassie would be asking for a giraffe by now.” Scott’s gaze stayed on the wooden sculptures serving as a centerpiece. His short huff of a laugh barely made it to the table surface. “And a leopard. Probably a gorilla…”

The weight of it all dropped into Steve’s gut again. While it  _ might  _ be possible to get Clint’s family here one day, Steve did know enough of Scott’s situation with his ex-wife to realize the engineer would likely never see his daughter again unless things changed drastically with the Accords. Letters or videos smuggled through Natasha would be it. Steve watched helplessly as grief slid over Scott’s expression.

Then a shrug lifted narrow shoulders. “At least I don’t have to put Maggie through the hell of having to say ‘no.’ That’s a plus.” Scott drained his wineglass and signaled a server for a refill.

But that image of grief shrugged off dogged Steve for the rest of the evening.

  
*** 


End file.
